King Of Kings
by LittleGloriana
Summary: A local performer falls to his death, Greg Sanders and the team aim to find out why. Greg's personal life and taste in TV programming also take some unexpected turns. Greg/OC/Full Cast - 3rd In A Series.
1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note: **

_I've been sitting on this one for a long while, and at the behest of a friend and beta, I've decided to toss it up here unfinished to see what kind of response I get. It's my first attempt at forming a mystery to go along with the continuation of my shipper plot from my previous submissions. As per usual, I add the disclaimer that I personally own nothing in terms of the CSI franchise, save my original characters and plot line. _

_This story takes place at the end of Season Six - Not long after the events in "Rashomama".  
><em>

**PROLOGUE**

The night sky above Las Vegas seemed to stretch out into infinity, a thousand stars glittering like diamonds sprinkled across crushed black velvet. An excited crowd was gathered beneath that sky, just a few miles off the main strip, at a lavish ground-breaking ceremony thrown by the city's newest real estate tycoon, Trey Barnett.

No expense was spared in the planning of festivities, anyone and everyone who mattered in Las Vegas had been invited to enjoy a VIP preview of the fabulous new Carnivale hotel and casino. The tired old Paragon Hotel had been razed to the ground a few weeks earlier, and the corner lot had been leveled, swept, and readied. The contractors were ready to begin their work on construction the following week, but first came some good old fashioned party time.

A sumptuous carnival was painstakingly organized for the dedication, complete with over fifteen different cutting edge portable thrill rides and dazzling fireworks provided by the country's master pyrotechnic showman. Roving bands of premiere showgirls with million dollar smiles mingled in the crowd, all of them dancing the night away in bikinis encrusted with jewel-toned feathers, sequins, and rhinestones. The air was thick with the smell of exotic spices and delicacies frying in herb infused oils, the five star chefs who would soon make Carnivale their home assembled in specialty tents to prepare their gastronomic delights for the eager guests.

In the very center of all the action lay an expansive outdoor dance floor, and giant amplifiers pumped out the hottest Latin music found North of Rio de Janeiro. At a quarter to midnight, Trey Barnett himself took over the microphone to encourage everyone in attendance to point their eyes toward the skies and get ready for a surprise.

The Flying Elvises were on their way.

The faces of the well dressed crowd lit up with intense excitement, releasing an almost deafening round of applause. The salsa beats gave way to the voice of Elvis Presley himself singing his classic 'Burning Love', and like a gathering of worshippers come to sing the praises of their one and only king, the elites of Las Vegas erupted in cheering, whistling, and raucous laughter as they gazed upward toward the approaching plane.

Before long, a string of flashing objects appeared above them in tight formation, one after another. Once the plane was emptied, there were ten Elvises on their way down to the crowd, the bright multi-colored lights on their jumpsuits twinkling as they descended. In a flash, a pair of giant searchlights lit up with blinding illumination, their beams focused directly on the incoming merry makers, and the DJ increased the volume of the music on cue. The excitement was reaching fever pitch as the Elvises got closer and closer to landfall on the dance floor, everyone bouncing to the beat with glasses of champagne in hand. Barnett was please with this response, and challenged his guests to see if they could cheer loud enough to wake up their neighbors all the way down in Pahrump.

In the midst of all the boisterous activity, there came a single gasp of distress, sharp and swift. Before long, an entire chorus of gasping could be heard, accompanied by a series of high pitched shrieks. The mirth seemed sucked out of the crowd as if by vacuum, the voices lowering into a rumble of panicky chatter. Trey Barnett stood upon the stage in abject confusion, and then he pointed his own gaze toward the sky.

Nine Elvises had released their parachutes and were now gliding steadily down to earth, but one of them was plummeting at breakneck speed. Trey Barnett stood hypnotized by the sight he saw above him, up until one of his business partners shook him awake. Barnett made hand gestures toward the DJ, instructing him to cut the music immediately, running his fingers manically through his gray hair as he struggled to grasp the unexpected situation unfolding before him.

Within a few short seconds, the orderly crowd of socialites had turned into a hysterical mob, and the crash of champagne glasses was nearly blood curdling. The richest and most elite guests had handlers, and so they were rushed off the scene to safety beneath the steel reinforced scaffolding behind the main stage. The rest were left to their own devices, some took shelter beneath the stage, some fled the dance floor in a crush against the 10-foot barriers around the perimeter, some dove under tables. Barnett did the best he could to keep the crowd calm, but no one seemed to hear him.

All eyes kept returning to the sky, tracking the rapid descent of the Elvis gone rogue. The lights on his jumpsuit continued to flash in a blur, and the expressions in the crowd turned from fear to horror as the inevitable impact finally came to pass.

The party was officially over.


	2. All Quiet On The Crime Lab Front

-1-

The Las Vegas Crime Lab was way too quiet for a Saturday night, and while any night without violence was a good night, it could also become a catalyst for weary wandering. Graveyard had been hit hard in recent weeks; between the messy fallout following the loss of evidence in the high profile Diane Chase murder and Conrad Ecklie swiping a couple of choice techs to work a complicated murder-suicide from dayshift, the team was being forced to test their endurance levels. The quiet almost made things worse, especially for Sanders, Sidle, and Stokes. They had all grown so used to spending their nights cranked up on caffeine and expending more energy than they could spare running around from scene to scene, it was actually exhausting to become idle.

The three of them sat gathered in the downstairs break room looking reminiscent of soldiers splayed out in the trenches after a fierce battle.

Sara sat in a chair against the far wall, her eyes closed as she rested her head against the side of the vending machine, the cup of coffee in her hand precariously close to tipping right on to the floor.

Nick had claimed the sofa for his own, propping himself up on a nest of cushions in an effort to finish up some paperwork in relative comfort, lazily munching out of a bowl of popcorn secured at his side.

Greg had his head down on the break room table, sorting a bag of gummy bears into armies, lining them up in pyramid formations, seemingly hypnotized by the repetition of his activity.

It was the lull, that unsettling period when previous cases got closed out and it was just a matter of staying awake during the time it took for a new dispatch to come through. You had to grab those few moments to relax, but what you couldn't do was let yourself relax to the point of real sleep. If you slipped into complete unconsciousness, the waking up would be ten times harder than fighting off sleep in the first place.

Still, it was hard to remember that particular truth when things got so quiet. It was all too easy to think a little nap never killed anyone. All too easy to think no dispatch would ever come at all, all too easy to succumb to the warm, seductive siren song of sleep.

"_A ten hut!"_ Nick Stokes shouted in a sharp, loud cry that cut through the silence like a machete.

Both Sara and Greg jolted upright in their seats, coffee splashing from Sara's cup, gummy bears flying out of Greg's hand. They glanced at each other with mutual grimaces, before turning their heads and directing their glaring ire toward Nick in a show of solidarity.

Nick Stokes put his hands up as if the eyes of his colleagues had guns trained right on him.

"Y'all told me not to let ya conk out. Just doin' my job folks" Nick defended, tossing a kernel of popcorn into the air and catching it in his mouth.

"I wasn't _conking out_..." Sara explained with a wide yawn, forcing herself to her feet, "I was _meditating"_.

"My eyes weren't even closed" Greg complained in a mumble, staring down at his decimated formations of gummy bears, disappointment shone on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've heard it all before" Nick replied, the corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk as he turned his attentions back to his clipboard.

Sara furrowed her eyebrows as she sat down upon the chair across from Greg, landing with a hard thunk. She sipped from her coffee cup, giving Nick an evil eye to end all evil eyes.

"Since you're so perky, why don't you go down and monitor the radio for dispatches?" she asked him, her voice a mix of friendliness and antagonism.

"That's your territory, girl, don't look at me. I gotta finish this" Nick responded, without even glancing in her direction.

"Since when is that _my territory?"_ inquired Sara, the antagonism in her voice quickly rising.

Greg gathered up his gummy bears, quickly cramming them into their bag and shoving them into his jacket before pushing his chair back from the table. He fled in the direction of the drink machine, digging down into his pockets for loose change with his back turned to both of his friends.

Sara flinched at him, and returned to awaiting her answer from Nick. When no answer came, she loudly cleared her throat.

Nick gave a casual turn of his head, his dark eyebrows raised in surprise to find Sara watching him with arms folded across her chest. He glanced up to find Greg shaking his head directly behind her with a dire look upon his face, waving his hands slowly in a universal signal of warning. Nick's face took on an expression of amusement, and in a flash Sara whipped her head around to see just what Nick was looking at.

Greg froze in place, his eyes darting around the room wildly in search of the quickest escape route, an awkward smile of guilt spreading across his face.

"Anybody want an energy drink? I'm buying" he offered weakly, still posed in a rigid stance, giving a thumbs-up with both hands in an effort to cover his ass.

"No. Thanks" Sara said curtly, narrowing her eyes at him before whipping back around in her chair.

"I'll take that action, sport!" Nick accepted with glee, cupping his hands to accept a catch.

Greg snarled at him, but tossed the can of double-caffeinated soda to his friend all the same.

"Better drink up, dispatch is waiting" Sara told Nick, still obstinate, drinking her coffee with purposeful casualness, just to show him she wasn't intending to go anywhere.

Greg sighed to himself, not that anyone noticed.

"See this?" Nick asked Sara, holding up his clipboard, "Paperwork. Paperwork I gotta finish _tonight_, and now might be my only chance. You can go".

Sara scowled even more, and Greg began slowly inching his way toward the exit door.

"You were supposed to finish those intakes last Friday, but _now_ they're so important to you?"

"Sara, come on now, I know we're all feeling a little crabby but there's no reason-"

"_Crabby?_ Now I'm _crabby?"_

Greg knew he only had a small window for escape before they were going to ask him to take sides, something he had no intention of doing. He had to play it cool, baby steps out the door, lest he draw attention to himself by trying to tear-ass out of there.

Greg reached the threshold successfully, backing up with whisper quiet steps as Sara and Nick continued to bicker. As the tension between Nick and Sara became more heated, Greg made one quick check to make sure neither of them were wearing their side arms. When he was satisfied they had no dangerous weapons, Greg promptly escaped down the hallway to freedom.

He thought about hitting the dispatch room himself, but that meant potentially running into Grissom, which meant potentially being saddled with some more boring tasks he might get stuck with for the entire shift. Until the LVPD hired a new and lower ranking CSI, Greg was still at the bottom of the totem pole, hence he was most apt to be stuck with grunt work when the radio was quiet. Greg had been a CSI for over a year, and "_Let the supervisor come to you_" was a lesson he had learned the hard way when it came to dispatches.

He thought about his favorite couch in the back storage room, the comfy black one with cushions that smelled like lemons. It was probably empty back there, not to mention quiet. The perfect place to chill out between assignments.

He looked at his reflection in the black glass of a window, and remembered very clearly how that same exact thought had gotten him trouble quite severely once upon a time.

Greg gave a halfhearted yawn, and decided the upstairs break room was a much better idea.

He made the most of the staircase, sprinting up the steps, to get the blood pumping through his veins. He reached the top of the steps, ignoring the stares of his colleagues as he jumped up and down in place for a few moments, just to keep the adrenaline going. Once his heart rate increased to a satisfactory pace, he ran his fingers through his hair and made a beeline for the break room.

He was hoping one of the cute lab rats from swing shift might still be hanging around, or maybe someone willing to play a few matches of Madden Football with him on the Xbox. He peered in the door to find David Hodges and Nina Sorrensen sitting on the couch, glued to the television.

Greg would have been fine with that, had he felt either of them had any decent taste in television programming lately. As it happened, he didn't, and he winced recalling many a day in the past month or so when they had forced him to watch celebrity gossip shows and crappy Spanish soap operas with really bad English language dubbing. His voice cracked just a little as he groaned by reflex.

He was ready to just turn on his heels and leave, but the two of them seemed so engrossed in the action, he couldn't help his curiosity. Before he knew it, Greg's eyes were on the screen and he could not pry them off. It was a program he had never watched himself but vaguely recognized from entertainment coverage on a couple of the news aggregates he frequented online. He couldn't think of the name to save his life, but he remembered it was some new drama about cops in a small town, the crimes they solved, and all the romances in between.

He knew it had been fiercely panned by most critics, and the caliber of the acting he saw before him was so appallingly low it was easy to understand why. He knew it was probably bona-fide trash du-jour, but he was being sucked toward the television by some strange magnetic force all the same.

"What the hell _is this_?" Greg said aloud without thinking, transfixed by the sight of the dewy blonde on screen, amused at how the tiny clip she slid into her handgun three seconds earlier could pop off about a thousand shots before requiring a reload.

Nina reacted immediately to the sound of Greg's voice, scrambling around on the gray leather couch to face him.

"It's _Shadow Valley P.D._!" she announced with unabashed glee as if she was shocked he didn't know, her face glittering like one of the models who showed off the fabulous prizes during game shows.

"That would be SVPD to diehards" Hodges added without turning around, taking the remote to increase the volume.

Greg rolled his eyes.

"Diehards? How can this show have diehards when it's only been on for like...two months?" he asked cynically, trying to look casual as he strode over to the couch - hands in pockets with slow steps.

"_Oh-huh-ho_ Sanders, just watch _one_ episode and you'll totally understand" Nina assured him with breathy enthusiasm, scooting to the middle of the couch, ushering him over by flapping her hand so fast it was like an airplane propeller Greg could barely see.

He made a point to keep a blatantly skeptical look on his face as he sat down, just in case any passers-by might catch a glimpse of him. He reached across Nina's lap to retrieve a handful of popcorn from the community bowl atop Hodges' knee, curling his upper lip in judgment as he crunched and watched.

The dewy blonde now stood in an interrogation room with a big white bandage wound around the gunshot to her upper arm. There was dirt on her sleeveless silk blouse and a slit torn up the side of her stylish gray dress pants, but her make-up and hair remained perfect. Beside her was an obscenely good looking brunette man with an obscenely shiny gold badge affixed to his hip. He was trying to restrain the dewy blonde from beating up on the suspect.

"Don't throw away your career on this scum! He's not worth it Devereux, you hear me?" demanded the good looking male cop, grabbing her by her shoulders, his thumb pressed so deep into her wound it caused her to wince dramatically from the pain.

The good looking cop took his hands off Devereux, and after a few seconds of tense staring she struck him right across the face, right in front of the silent suspect.

"Ooooooooh!" cooed Nina, pulling her legs up on the couch to hug her knees, her crystal olive eyes all aglow as if watching a real fireworks display instead of a figurative one.

Greg rolled his eyes, betraying only a wisp of a smirk.

The good looking cop retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth, staring at the glob of red blood upon it for a moment.

Then he looked at Devereux and laughed.

"Everyone says you're a tough cookie. But you're no cookie,..." the cop began as he walked over, stopping only millimeters from Devereux's flawless face, "You're so hard you're a Bavarian pretzel".

Greg screwed his eyes shut tight with heaving chuckles coming out of his nose, Hodges sat with a wide closed-mouth grin spreading across his face, and Nina's burst of laughter hit the ceiling.

"That's about all the talking I want to hear from you Caesar, why don't you shut your mouth and see if you can get this one to _open his_" instructed Devereux with throaty authority, stroking the lapel on Caesar's jacket.

"Well _that's _inappropriate" observed Greg, stretching his legs until the rubber heels of his sneakers rested upon the floor.

"I know! It's great, isn't it?" Nina replied with enthusiasm, giggling quietly from her chest.

The next thirty seconds of screen time were taken up by the two attractive cops accusing the angry looking gray haired suspect of stealing some priceless paintings from the Shadow Valley historical society, killing two security guards in the process. Devereux was asking him how he had managed to pull off such a perfect alibi when the door to the interrogation room burst open.

Another good looking female detective with a sexy librarian aesthetic stood in the doorway, urging Devereux and Caesar to stop the questioning immediately, whispering the news of a development in the case they needed to see.

Nina's mouth hung open as the law enforcement agents of Shadow Valley slowly made their way into their precinct hallway. Hodges leaned toward the television in anticipation, pointing his left ear in the direction of the speakers.

Greg looked around the room like a little boy who didn't want to get caught watching a dirty movie, then he turned his attentions back to the screen with a twisted little leer on his face.

"What could be so important you had to pull us out of there right when we were on the verge of a confession?" demanded Devereux, tossing her bouncy golden curls with agitation.

"Telling you won't do any good, this is something you need to see with your own four eyes" said the sexy librarian cop, addressing both actors at once.

The actors were handed a print out, and the camera did a rapid close-up on the clearly shocked faces of Caesar and Devereux. It cut to a shot of what Greg realized was some set designer's really crappy idea of a DNA read out. It announced the suspect in custody was NOT, in fact, Doctor Weidermeyer or even a relation to Doctor Weidermeyer.

"Who's Doctor Weidermeyer?" Greg asked with true interest.

"Shhhhhh!" Nina and Hodges reprimanded in unison.

Greg put his hands out in front of him in the universal gesture of "_Jeez, sorry for living"_ and sighed at the two of them.

"If that's not Doctor Weidermeyer in there, then who in _god's good name_ is it?" Caesar asked while thoughtfully massaging his chin.

Another extreme close-up on Devereux's cornflower blue eyes.

"His doppelganger!" she announced with enigmatic certainty as the camera kept zooming all the way into her very pupils.

Then came the cut to black, the 'To Be Continued' in block lettering, and finally the ending credits.

Nina looked over at Greg like they had just witnessed the greatest television event in history, her eyes squeezed into two cherubic little crescent moons.

"I dare you to tell me that wasn't awesome. I _dare you_" she challenged, in a deadly serious tone of voice.

"I want to. I really want to say that wasn't awesome but... I can't" Greg confessed with awe, almost in a whisper.

Greg had been watching way too much of the local news channel than was healthy for him for way too long, and if he wasn't doing that he was reading forensic journals until his vision went blurry. Sara Sidle had warned him that a job like theirs had a way of consuming a person if that person wasn't careful, and she seemed to be speaking from personal experience.

He trusted what Sara had said, he knew he needed to cut back on the seriousness before he overdosed. As he sat on the couch in the break room pondering the kitschy spectacle that was 'Shadow Valley P.D.' he thought it might be the perfect antidote, even if that did mean getting into something David Hodges was into.

"I think...no I _believe_ that was the best episode yet" Hodges proclaimed, handing Nina the bowl of popcorn, slapping salt from his hands with a satisfied expression.

"It really_ was. _I knew Doctor Weidermeyer couldn't have committed a crime like that, I _knew_ he didn't do it." Nina commented with great relief.

"Okay, seriously, who the hell _is_ Doctor Weidermeyer?" Greg asked again, still looking over his shoulder as if he expected the good taste police to burst through the glass and take him away for his crimes.

"None other than Shadow Valley's very own Indiana Jones!" Nina informed him, taking on a sassy Southern accent for no reason Greg could comprehend.

"Master of antiquities, specializing in artwork from 18th century Eastern Europe, loves his mulled wine almost as much as he loves his blonde bombshells. Served in both the Korean War and Vietnam, has a vacation home in Venice. He practically _founded_ Shadow Valley, and he cooks one hell of a potato pancake" Hodges added in a manner evocative of Jim Brass when he gave the quick rundown of case details at a crime scene.

Nina and Greg both gazed at Hodges in disbelief; Nina looking impressed while Greg looked almost pale with pity.

Hodges shrugged.

"Wikipedia" he said simply, averting his eyes as he proceeded to check his watch and clean up the stray bits of popcorn from the floor.

Greg released a breath, and moved on.

"So this guy got accused of stealing but his evil twin did it?" Greg asked, snagging the bowl of popcorn from Nina to finish up the last few handfuls.

"Not his evil twin, fella, his _doppelganger_" corrected Nina, leaning back on the couch, having a lazy stretch of her limbs.

"Right, doppelganger, whatever. So what's the story with Officer Supermodel and her partner? Actually wait, what's with the foxy cop who looks like a naughty school teacher?" Greg inquired, eyebrows wiggling, his voice slightly muffled from a mouthful of popcorn.

"There's _so_ much you don't know. Are you just waiting for dispatch? We can all go watch recaps online if you've got time" Nina suggested eagerly, snatching the emptied popcorn bowl from him and padding across the floor in her bare feet to give it a wash in the sink.

"Yeah, I'll take that action. I've got time" Greg responded, indulging his insatiable appetite for guilty pleasures.

"Time for what?" came the voice of Grissom as he entered from the hallway with some folders and dispatch sheets in hand.

"Uhhhhh..." Greg faltered, standing up straight and surreptitiously fumbling for the remote behind his back in an effort to click off the television before his boss could catch sight of what he'd been watching.

"Time to read up on the proposed global database integration program that came up at last month's forensic symposium in Albuquerque" Nina covered without batting an eyelash, just a hint of smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

Greg shot her a brief but thankful glance.

"Well sorry Greg, but I'd say you have just enough time to hit the bathrooms and get a soda. Hodges, finish whatever you've got open and clear the decks downstairs, do it as fast as you can because I have a feeling we're about to get slammed" Grissom informed him in a no nonsense manner.

"Gotcha boss man" Hodges replied obediently, rushing right past Nina without another word as he sprinted to action.

Nina flinched at him, and turned her attention to Grissom.

"Sir, should I process with-" she began from her position near the sink, only to be cut off.

"Greg, you're coming with me and the team..." Grissom interjected as if Nina was not even in the room, "There's a mad house scene over at the Carnivale shindig, some guy took a header out of a plane, the press is already down there turning it into a circus. We've got the mayor down there, and a whole bunch of fat cats so we've gotta do this one by the book, to the letter, no fooling around".

Greg's stomach dropped, just slightly, but he stood up straight and gave a firm nod.

"Ten four" he responded, finally getting enough of a grip on the remote that he was able to slide it out of its hiding place.

"Final proficiency for level two is coming up Greg, make the most out of this. It's crunch time butch" reminded Grissom, making a point to catch Greg's eyes with a direct stare, waiting for the signal he'd been understood.

"Gotcha, got my eyes on the sparrow, a hundred and ten percent" Greg replied, giving salute with his free hand to appear that much more serious.

Grissom finally handed Greg a copy of the dispatch sheet, catching sight of a closed case file on the table. He seemed agitated to spot it there, and picked it up to look it over as if he was quite done handing out orders. Nina went to walk off, but in that same instant Grissom finally addressed her directly without taking his eyes off the file in his hands.

"I would appreciate it if you put some shoes on, Miss Sorrensen. Bare feet don't fly in this lab, not even in the break rooms. You never know what's crawling around down there" Grissom gently reprimanded her, pointing out the floor tiles with his pen as he started heading out the door.

"Yes sir, I usually don't but I went running yesterday and my feet were so sore that I..."

Greg felt physical pain watching her ramble on, cringing just a little as he watched Grissom's dumbfounded and impatient expression. Nina had been there long enough to have figured out that Grissom wasn't the kind of guy who was into anecdotal storytelling unless it had scientific or philosophical value of some kind, especially if he was in a hurry, but Greg remembered she had always been pretty handicapped in the area of timing.

"..But it won't happen again, that's for sure sir!" Nina finally finished, her eyes as wide as saucers.

Complete silence, and Grissom furrowed his eyebrows.

"Just put some shoes on" he repeated, making for the door yet again.

Nina watched him getting further away, gripping the edges of the counter, digging her fingernails into the underside of it in a grinding fashion.

It appeared as if she might actually be on the verge of crying, shaking her leg nervously before speaking in a burst.

"Oh Mr. Grissom! I wanted to ask-" she called out, biting her bottom lip.

"_Yes?"_ Grissom demanded, his patience seemingly run dry.

She froze solid, her mouth agape, her eyes so full of terror Greg was reminded of what she looked like watching The X-Files in college.

"Actually, nothing. I just remembered I'm cool. Cool as ice" she told him, her voice trembling just the slightest bit.

"That's good, Nina" Grissom replied, no shame as he cocked his eyebrow at her on his way out the door.

He was just about to cross the threshold when his attentions were diverted by something on the television.

Greg had been so engrossed by the exchange between Nina and Grissom that he'd forgotten all about his mission to turn it off.

Now... it was too late.

There Grissom stood, staring at the coming attractions for next week's episode of 'Shadow Valley P.D.' and there was nothing Greg could do about it.

The teaser didn't make it entirely clear what was going to happen, there were just snippets featuring Devereux and Caesar trying to check into a swanky Italian hotel wearing really bad disguises, plus a slow speed Gondola chase complete with gunfire.

"You _like_ this?" a perplexed Grissom asked Greg, with genuine curiosity, indicating the screen with his outstretched thumb.

Greg opened his mouth to answer, pointing at Nina with intentions to explain it was _her_ thing, but no words made their way out. After a few false starts, he just shrugged sheepishly. Grissom gave him a shrug of resignation in return, shaking his head with his patented 'to each their own' look as he finally left and walked off toward the stairs.

Greg finally succeeded in turning off the television and the break room became pregnant with silence.

For a few seconds, at least.

"_Oh god, _that man gives me cramps" Nina finally said aloud as clutched her abdomen and crossed the room to find her shoes.

"You show too much fear, gotta work on your form there, kid" Greg teased, kicking her scuffed black flats toward her.

"_Errrgggh"_ she groaned in reply, slipping her feet into her shoes, wiping her sweaty palms on her brown skirt.

Greg wasn't exactly sure what her problem was, but he only had about five minutes to find out. He watched her chew on her fingernails, her expression lost in space somewhere, and he walked over to stand beside her.

"Allow me to escort you to the locker room milady?" he asked, offering his arm and giving her a decorous bow.

"You don't have to be condescending, Sanders, I'm not _helpless_. It's _hard_ to ask Mr. Grissom for things." Nina reprimanded him, frowning a bit as she stomped off into the hall.

Greg stood there looking dejected and confused for a moment, but then his face lit up with recognition. He followed her down the stairwell, quick on his heels, as he knew exactly what was going on now.

"You still didn't _ask_ him?" Greg called down to her in an exasperated tone, taking two steps at a time in order to catch up to her.

"I'm not getting into it right now" she called back to him, rushing along the hallway toward the locker room, weaving in and out of colleagues as if trying to lose him in the chase.

The adrenaline in Greg's veins took a pronounced leap as he pursued her, stopping only briefly to apologize to Archie Johnson when he plowed right into him. He arrived at the locker room to behold the sight of Nina turning her back on him as she buttoned up her lab coat. He narrowed his eyes at her, and while he wanted to go full-on Humphrey Bogart on her ass and do a complete interrogation, he was much too aware of the time he didn't have. He flung open his own locker, still staring her down as he pulled out his vest and boots.

"You need to submit your application by _next week_, Sorrensen" he reminded her in harsh tones, doing up the Velcro straps on his vest impatiently, shaking his head.

He waited for a reply, expecting argument or rambling self-justifications, but he received nothing. She just continued to ignore him, her back still facing him as she casually secured her hair up with a large brown clip.

While Greg didn't have time to be positive, he was 98.9% sure she was starting to bug the shit out him.

"It's a _recommendation letter_, it's not like you're asking the guy for his first born child. Why are you being such a little chicken, chicken?" he goaded, using all the tones of voice he knew would antagonize her most as he flopped down on the bench to change his shoes.

Still nothing, and it was then he decided he had to unleash the big guns, consequences be damned.

"_Bock, bock, bock, bock_" Greg heckled in a purposeful whisper, sneering gently.

Nina slammed her locker shut, whipping around towards him, her face flushed a bright rose.

"Warrick said you used to get _so_ nervous around Mr. Grissom your nose used to run whenever he went into DNA, so make like a library book and _shut the hell up_" she snapped, the mound of hair atop her head falling awkwardly to one side as she stood, arms folded, awaiting reply.

Greg was pleased with himself as he finished tying the laces of his boots, not so much concerned with her remarks about his former runny nose issues as he was perplexed by her mixed metaphors.

"_Library book_?" he asked her simply, tilting his chin down into his chest, peering up at her inquisitively, as he retrieved his camera and badge.

Nina's anger seemed to vanish as quickly as it had arrived, her cheeks were still flushed but her fierce eyes ran off in a flash, her defensive posture deflating into a slouch.

"You know what I meant" she said tranquilly, staring at the floor.

Greg lowered the camera strap around his neck, sighing as he felt pity surging through him all of a sudden. He shut the door to his locker, checking his watch quickly before walking over to her. He put his hands on her shoulders, chasing her averted gaze for a few moments before finally catching her eyes.

"You want me to ask him?" he offered, preparing for her eyes to light up in an outpouring of gratitude.

He was expecting thanks and praises, so he was surprised when she looked at him as if he was the most disappointing human being on the planet.

"No, damn you. _I will_, I just...have to find the right moment, that's all. Nicky gave me his letter yesterday and I've got yours. And Hodges is working on his. That's pretty good by itself" she reasoned, quietly but directly.

"Yeah, that's good. But Ecklie plays favorites with techs he puts on swing, and the only way you're gonna get that position for sure is through Grissom. You _want_ this job, don't you?" Greg asked her, making sure not to blink as that was one of the only ways to let Nina know when he was serious.

The last question was meant to be rhetorical, so he was rather unsettled to find her hesitating in her answer. She opened her mouth as if she were going to reply, but not a sound came out. For whatever reason, it made his skin prickle. He was just about to ask her again when there came some barracking and excited breathing in the doorway.

"What are you doin', getting a manicure in here? Let's move 'em!" Nick instructed with renewed vigor, handing Greg a kit and slapping his hands together.

Greg quickly caught a glimpse of Sara schlepping toward the front doors in a zombie-like fashion, and then he turned back to Nina.

"To be continued" he said to her with conviction, pointing directly at her as he started heading out the door.

"If you say so" she replied, rather sardonically, giving her eyes a pronounced roll.

"Damn skippy, lady!" Greg shot back, snapping his fingers three times above his head as he walked off.

The double-caffeinated soda Greg had purchased for Nick seemed to have done the trick, because the sentimental gentleman from Texas was already out the front doors. Greg caught up to Sara without any problem, schlepping right along with her to keep her company.

"What was that all about?" she asked out of nowhere, with very little emotion, her brown eyes still trained dead ahead of her.

"What was what?" Greg inquired absent-mindedly, stealing a look back at Nina, who was using the mirror on his locker to fix her hair.

Sara glanced at Greg, who was still glancing at Nina, and she gave him a gentle slap.

"_That_" she replied, surreptitiously indicating Nina with her thumb.

"Oh,..."

Greg shook his head around, rolling his eyes, sighing with a grunt.

"Nothing, she's just being self destructive. I got it covered" he said confidently, double checking his badge was securely affixed to his belt.

Sara smirked.

"Good to know" she said, and a little light returned to her face.

Greg opened the door for Sara, and followed her out into the parking lot. They made a turn toward the garages where the Denalis were parked, but were cut-off by Nick driving up beside them, honking away.

"_How_ did he do that?" Sara asked, looking around as if to spot a teleportation device.

Greg shrugged, flinching at all the honking as Nick rolled down the passenger window with a shout.

"Pick up the pace, little doggies, we got ourselves a dead Elvis!'


End file.
